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The Awakening
The grandfather’s clock in Tyl the woodcutter’s cottage had struck eight; and his two little Children, Tyltyl and Mytyl, were still asleep in their little beds. Mummy Tyl stood looking at them, with her arms akimbo and her apron tucked up, laughing and scolding in the same breath:
“I can’t let them go on sleeping till midday,” she said. “Come, get up, you little lazybones!”
But it was no use shaking them, kissing them or pulling the bedclothes off them: they kept on falling back upon their pillows, with their noses pointing at the ceiling, their mouths wide open, their eyes shut and their cheeks all pink.
At last, after receiving a gentle thump in the ribs, Tyltyl opened one eye and murmured:
“What? … Light? … Where are you? … No, no, don’t go away. …”
“Light!” cried Mummy Tyl, laughing. “Why, of course, it’s light. … Has been for ever so long! … What’s the matter with you? … You look quite blinded. …”
“Mummy! … Mummy!” said Tyltyl, rubbing his eyes. “It’s you! …”
“Why, of course, it’s I! … Why do you stare at me in that way? … Is my nose turned upside down, by any chance?”
Tyltyl was quite awake by this time and did not trouble to answer the question. He was beside himself with delight! It was ages and ages since he had seen his Mummy and he never tired of kissing her.
Mummy Tyl began to be uneasy. What could the matter be? Had her boy lost his senses? Here he was suddenly talking of a long journey in the company of the Fairy and Water and Milk and Sugar and Fire and Bread and Light! He made believe that he had been away a year! …
“But you haven’t left the room!” cried Mummy Tyl, who was now nearly beside herself with fright. “I put you to bed last night and here you are this morning! It’s Christmas Day: don’t you hear the bells in the village? …”
“Of course, it’s Christmas Day,” said Tyltyl, obstinately, “seeing that I went away a year ago, on Christmas Eve! … You’re not angry with me? … Did you feel very sad? … And what did Daddy say? …”
“Come, you’re still asleep!” said Mummy Tyl, trying to take comfort. “You’ve been dreaming! … Get up and put on your breeches and your little jacket. …”
“Hullo, I’ve got my shirt on!” said Tyltyl.
And, leaping up, he knelt down on the bed and began to dress, while his mother kept on looking at him with a scared face.
The little boy rattled on:
“Ask Mytyl, if you don’t believe me. … Oh, we have had such adventures! … We saw Grandad and Granny … yes, in the Land of Memory … it was on our way. They are dead, but they are quite well, aren’t they, Mytyl?”
And Mytyl, who was now beginning to wake up, joined her brother in describing their visit to the grandparents and the fun which they had had with their little brothers and sisters.
This was too much for Mummy Tyl. She ran to the door of the cottage and called with all her might to her husband, who was working on the edge of the forest:
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she cried. “I shall lose them as I lost the others! … Do come! … Come quick. …”
Daddy Tyl soon entered the cottage, with his axe in his hand; he listened to his wife’s lamentations, while the two Children told the story of their adventures over again and asked him what he had done during the year.
“You see, you see!” said Mummy Tyl, crying. “They have lost their heads, something will happen to them; run and fetch the doctor. …”
But the woodcutter was not the man to put himself out for such a trifle. He kissed the little ones, calmly lit his pipe and declared that they looked very well and that there was no hurry.
At that moment, there came a knock at the door and the neighbour walked in. She was a little old woman leaning on a stick and very much like the Fairy Bérylune. The Children at once flung their arms around her neck and capered round her, shouting merrily:
“It’s the Fairy Bérylune!”
The neighbour, who was a little hard of hearing, paid no attention to their cries and said to Mummy Tyl:
“I have come to ask for a bit of fire for my Christmas stew. … It’s very chilly this morning. … Good morning, children. …”
Meanwhile, Tyltyl had become a little thoughtful. No doubt, he was glad to see the old Fairy again; but what would she say when she heard that he had not the Blue Bird? He made up his mind like a man and went up to her boldly:
“Fairy Bérylune, I could not find the Blue Bird. …”
“What is he saying?” asked the neighbor, quite taken aback.
Thereupon Mummy Tyl began to fret again:
“Come, Tyltyl, don’t you know Goody Berlingot?”
“Why, yes, of course,” said Tyltyl, looking the neighbor up and down. “It’s the Fairy Bérylune.”
“Béry … what?” asked the neighbor.
“Bérylune,” answered Tyltyl, calmly.
“Berlingot,” said the neighbor. “You mean Berlingot.”
Tyltyl was a little put out by her positive way of talking; and he answered:
“Bérylune or Berlingot, as you please, ma’am, but I know what I’m saying. …”
Daddy Tyl was beginning to have enough of it:
“We must put a stop to this,” he said. “I will give them a smack or two.”
“Don’t,” said the neighbor; “it’s not worth while. It’s only a little fit of dreaming; they must have been sleeping in the moonbeams. … My little girl, who is very ill, is often like that. …”
Mummy Tyl put aside her own anxiety for a moment and asked after the health of Neighbor Berlingot’s little girl.
“She’s only so-so,” said the neighbor, shaking her head. “She can’t get up. … The doctor says it’s her nerves. … I know what would cure her, for all that. She was asking me for it only this morning, for her Christmas present. …”
She hesitated a little, looked at Tyltyl with a sigh and added, in a
